


Switching lives but not loves

by ceria



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: High school bullying, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Talk of Suicide, Underage Kissing, body swapping, talk of drug overdose, teenager!Phil, underage wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceria/pseuds/ceria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The initial prompt was something along the lines of adult!Phil switching bodies with teenager!Phil and how adult Phil handles being a teenager again, and how teenager Phil handles finding out he's married to a (male) superhero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switching lives but not loves

**Author's Note:**

> Teenaged Phil was bullied in high school after being outed, so there's talk of bullying, bruises and black eyes, and suicide attempts. There's also references to a young man dying from a drug overdose. Adult Clint kisses Phil while he's a 17-year-old teenager in adult Phil's body, hence the underage warnings. 
> 
> This was written years ago based off an Lj prompt and is getting posted in an attempt to get all my fic in one place. It's not MCU compliant at all.

He woke to a dark room, a tiny bright light near his head on the left and Phil opened his eyes. 

To an alarm clock. 

What the hell? He hadn't used one of those in ten years or so. The steady green light indicated it was five minutes past six in the morning and since when did Clint let him sleep that late?

"Phillip James Coulson, if you don't get out of bed right now…" the door opened, revealing a very-young Caleb waving both hands, falsetto voice continuing to sound similar to their mother.

"Caleb?" Phil said, breath catching at his strange-sounding voice. Phil blinked his eyes, drinking in the sight of his little brother.

Caleb flipped on the light but Phil wasn't surprised to see the Captain America and Howling Commandos poster on the far wall. Or the red and blue bedspread on the single bed, even though it didn't exist anymore. His mother had sold this house and they'd moved out of Connecticut the year after Phil finished high school. 

Maybe this was a dream? The last thing he remembered was Clint's voice in the headset, warning that the robot was aiming a green ray toward the SHIELD transport.

"I'm up," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to prove he wasn't going back to sleep. Jesus, everything hurt this morning and at least that feeling wasn't too far off from the normal, fifty year old version of himself. 

He needed to figure out the year. The garbage can nestled between the bed and nightstand gave several clues as well. The crumpled up tissues that made his teenage-self blush - Phil hadn't done that in years… well, hadn't blushed at least - and the bloody rags gave away too much as well. So, he was most likely a junior. Fuck.

"I hope you're not _up_ , up," Caleb said, covering his eyes as he backed out of the room. "Captain America might not approve of the way you stare at his poster. Ewwww."

And yeah, this was definitely his junior year, after his little brother realized that Phil wasn't interested enough in girls, and too interested in boys, and most likely _after_ Caleb had confided to his best friend, Brent. Brent, whose older brother was Jason, the senior bent on making most of Phil's junior year of high school hell.

Great. He'd switched bodies with his recently-outed, suicidal, teenage self.

Clint was going to have a field day with this.

Phil swore under his breath as soon as that thought sunk in. That could go spectacularly good, or horribly bad. 

###

The only time he'd ever been inside a hospital was three years ago when Annabelle fell off the swing and fractured her arm. She'd cried the whole way they rode their on his bike, but both of his parents were at work and Phil had been too scared to wait for them to get home. Instead, he'd run next door and asked Mrs. Stacy to watch Caleb and Jessica while he took her to the ER to get her arm checked. The extra insurance cards were always pinned to the cork board, which he'd taken with him, and Phil had left messages at work for both of his parents. 

This… wasn't the same thing. For one, Phil felt _weird_ , not like himself at all. When he raised his hand to touch his head, he wasn't even sure what he saw. Since when did he have freckles on his arms? And that much hair and muscle? He touched his forehead and holy shit, had the Doc shaved him? His hairline was way too far back.

The heart monitor sped up and movement made him refocus on eyes on a tall, bald man and a stunningly beautiful woman. 

"How are you feeling, Phil?" she asked, reaching for his hand, their fingers twining together. She wore a huge rock on her index finger and he blinked. That wasn't his mom, not with her strawberry-blond hair and business suit. What the hell?

"Welcome back, Phil," the black man said and Phil blinked at him, not sure what was going on. "Before you ask, Barton is fine." He held up… it looked like a tiny, flat television showing a giant robot striding through some tall buildings that kinda looked like the pictures he'd seen of New York. It had arrows sticking out of it and at least two men flying around it. "None of the Avengers have been hurt. Yet."

The clarity of the movie was outstanding though. Phil grinned and chuckled as the robot fell down and some giant green… thing crushed its head. "That's cool," he said, glancing up at the two people.

Who both looked shocked and then rather nervous.

"Phil?" she asked, reaching up to touch his forehead. 

"Name and rank," the black man said sharply, reminding him of a drill sergeant from tv movies, and Phil scrunched up his face. 

"Huh?" They looked at each other again, and Phil noticed that the man was wearing a pirate patch over one, scarred eye.

"Phil," she said, caressing his hand, "can you tell me what year it is?"

"Sure. It's nineteen-seventy-nine. Are you the doctor and nurse? Has anyone called my parents yet?"

"Oh dear," she mumbled and the black man pulled out… was that a walkie talkie?

"This is Director Fury, I'm invoking Protocol thirty-two. Barton and Romanoff, gather up anyone else who might have been zapped by that green ray and get them admitted, no matter what. If any of them are acting questionable, contact Mrs. Hertz to reach their emergency contact immediately. After that, I need you in room fifty-two, Barton."

A woman confirmed the order, followed by a man's voice over the machine. "What's wrong with Coulson?"

"Physically, nothing. Ms. Potts and I are staying with him until you arrive."

"Yes, sir," the voice said and Phil had to wonder who it was. 

"Everything is going to be okay," she said, still holding Phil's hand and he got that something weird had happened. She pressed a button on the bed to make it sit up more and he smiled in thanks. He wasn't stupid or particularly slow. His math teacher last year had told Phil actually that he had a great grasp of almost everything and kept pushing him to learn more.

"Can I have a mirror?" he asked and she froze, unable to hide her reactions the way Fury did.

"I'm not sure…"

"Phil," Fury said, grinning at him. "We already know something has happened to you. It's not nineteen-seventy-nine. If I give you a mirror, you're going to see yourself, just a few years older. As much fun as it would be to watch your reaction to that, I have to wait for Agent Barton to arrive."

Phil glanced at the woman again, then at her large ring. "May I ask a question?"

"Certainly," she said.

"Are you my wife?"

Ms. Potts started in surprise, her whole face turning bright red. Fury, and Phil suspected the man just might be a bastard for all that they must be friends, laughed loud enough to make a nurse stick her head in the door, eyes wide and obviously surprised by who laughed.

"Considering you're gay, Coulson, don't you think that would be a little awkward?"

"Um, maybe?"

"Your husband and my fiancé are on their way here. I'm Pepper Potts, we're friends, Phil."

"Hus… husband?" Phil asked because there was no way he wasn't dreaming. None at all. "Men can't marry."

"They can now," Fury said, striding back across the room to stand next to Phil, staring at him sincerely. "At least in New York they can."

"Are you supposed to tell me about the future?" he asked, just as curious.

Fury looked uncertain for a minute, watching Ms. Potts for some reason for a long minute before responding. "My name," Fury said, holding out a hand to introduce himself, "was Marcus Johnson, Second Lieutenant, when we first met. We were in the Army together and no, we're not supposed to tell you about the future."

"Then why are you?" Phil asked, keeping his eyes on Fury as several people stumbled into the room.

"Because you're my best friend, and I know what happened in nineteen-seventy-nine, Coulson."

"Why is nineteen-seventy-nine important?" someone asked. A man covered in… was that red and gold armor? He moved closer and leaned down, armor whirring and creaking and folding back by itself to reveal a man inside, and kissed Ms. Potts' cheek.

"Protocol thirty-two indicates a temporal switch of bodies," another woman said and gay or not, Phil couldn't help sweeping his eyes up and down her trim, curvy body covered with black leather. Wow. 

Someone snickered and he blushed. He couldn't help being sixteen and obvious. She was pretty damn hot in ways the beautiful, elegant woman holding his hand was – and wasn't. 

"Fury?" someone said and Phil actually had to wiggle in the bed, needing to adjust himself when he caught sight of the man standing in the door. He wasn't really short, just shorter than the other men present, and holy hell, those bare arms and spiky, sweaty hair. Phil wished he was alone.

Apparently, he did a piss poor job of hiding that expression because the guy in the door frowned at him. "Sir?" he said as all the other people in the room, except Ms. Potts, outright snickered.

Phil would have blushed and stammered his way through some explanation – because anyone calling him Sir obviously wasn't married to him - when a vision in red, white and blue slid through the door as well. He pushed the cowl back, revealing bright eyes and blond hair and holy shit. He was a dead ringer for Steve Rogers. 

Apparently the holy shit had been vocal however. He kept staring at the Captain America look-alike, not really believing what was going on and why his idol was appearing in what had to be a dream. He ignored everyone else just to stare a little longer, sure his expression was nothing but confusion and awe.

"Barton, do not leave this room," Fury snapped. "Get over here and deal with this."

Ms. Potts let go of his hand, stepping back as the man in the doorframe stepped closer, taking her spot. As soon as he reached him, he threaded one hand through Phil's, the other reaching up to rest fingers against Phil's cheek. Phil looked away, eyes wide as he took in the man called Barton, who was grinning at him even though he looked really worried.

"Sir? Everything okay?"

"He thinks it's nineteen-seventy-nine, Barton, and wants to know if his parents have been called since he's in the hospital."

Barton's whole expression changed instantly, eyes wide. He wasn't nervous however as he ordered everyone else out of the room. He exchanged glances and a whole lot of silent words with the woman in black leather and she was the last to leave, closing the door behind her. 

Barton lowered the railing and sat on the bed, his hip pressed against Phil's thigh and leaned in to kiss him briefly on the lips. Phil couldn't raise his other hand to verify that really happened since it was hooked to a monitor, and instead bit his lip, staring at the man. "Um…"

"Hi. You're Phil Coulson, right?"

"Sure."

"Seventy-nine, so that makes you sixteen, almost seventeen?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Specialist Clint Barton, code name Hawkeye. I live here in New York, with you, or a version of you at least."

"Are you my…" Phil couldn't say the word in case he was wrong again.

"Husband? Yeah, I am. We got married two years ago. New York allows that now, same sex marriages. They didn't allow that in seventy-nine though."

"Time travel?" Phil asked and he couldn't help but wonder about his mom.

"Nat called it a temporal body switch. You're still Phil Coulson and you're still in Phil's body, just an older version of him."

"Hawkeye?" he said and Clint twisted around so Phil could see the long thing on his back that obviously had held something. He didn't recognize it as a quiver until he saw the various silver arrowheads in the bottom.

"I'm an archer, we're part of the Avengers Initiative. We help out around New York."

"You're cops?"

"We're a government organization, you work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, or SHIELD. You're Agent Phil Coulson, one of Fury's right hands, and liaison to the Avengers."

"And your husband?"

Clint laughed at that. "Yeah, but don't sound so shocked. It took me a while to convince you to marry me, after all."

All Phil could think about was the warm hip pressed against his thigh. Even if this was nothing but a dream he'd conjured up to deal with the reality of high school, he'd take it. 

"If this is true, why are you telling me about it? Shouldn't it be a secret?"

"You're going to look in a mirror soon enough," Clint said, stroking Phil's hand and wow, did that ever feel good. 

"And?"

Clint bit his lip and looked away. "Listen, I know high school was rough. I also know you got outed this year."

"You do?"

"Husband," Clint teased, scooting closer to Phil until he actually leaned in and hugged him, surrounding him with strong arms, sweaty hair and a body that smelled, well, like he'd been fighting. Phil wasn't going to complain though – now when this gorgeous, older man was hugging him. "You hated high school and it sucked for you after that. I just… I don't want you to do anything stupid. College is so much better for you."

"Do we meet in college?" he asked and Clint looked really sad at that. He shook his head.

"We don't meet for a while, but I know you liked college, okay?"

"I do?" He bit his lip and looked away. "Been thinking I don't really want to go, you know."

"Phil," Clint said, touching fingers to his chin and making him look up. "It gets better, I swear."

"Did you like high school?"

"No," Clint said, keeping his eyes on Phil's. "Just keep in mind that it ends and things get better. Your family loves you man, I should know, I've met them."

"You have?" he asked and Clint nodded. "So they're okay, with me, being… a homo."

"Eventually, yeah. Even your dad will come around. It's going to take a while but they love you, Phil. I have to admit though, Jessica is my favorite."

"Why?" he asked, partially because he doubted this was really happening and partially because he liked her the least of his sisters. "She's not very nice."

Clint narrowed his eyes as if he caught on that Phil didn't believe him. "Caleb always used to tease you about Cap, always made fun of you for liking him a little too much. He's the quiet one who's probably in a lot of trouble right now but you're not sure why. Annabelle is your favorite, always has been. Jessica always fought with you but she gets better. Eventually."

Oh, Phil suspected what was wrong with Caleb. Only he didn't know who to tell. He didn't think anyone would believe him anyway.

Phil leaned back and closed his eyes. "Can you stick around for a little bit?" he asked, because whatever the Avengers were, Clint was part of them and probably had better things to do than sit with a teenager.

"Forever," Clint replied and moved around, sliding Phil's body over a little so he could be next to him. He tilted Phil's right side forward and let it rest against his chest and that felt really good.

"You tired?" Phil whispered and Clint affirmed he was before his breath evened out. 

Phil didn't move, just leaned against his apparent husband and thought. He'd been considering a few drastic things. He'd asked his parents about moving away, maybe closer to New York where he'd heard about a large gay population and that things were a little more accepted there.

Jason was a prick and he'd progressively become more mean as the year went along. Phil had fought back, most of the time, but it always ended up with him having bloody noses or terrible bruises he couldn't explain away as 'gym class' and lately… well, lately Jason's friend had joined in. Phil had been accidently pushed into more walls than he cared to think about this year. He'd been tripped and accused of watching them when they showered or dressed and more and more boys were eyeing Phil like he was disgusting. Even Phil was beginning to believe it.

He'd known for two years he preferred boys over girls, ever since Melissa had kissed him and nothing worked quite right. But he'd got into a mock wresting match that same week with Shawn that had left him aroused, excited and really, really confused. 

So he'd stayed away from sports and the gym in school just to avoid temptation. He'd even told two different teachers about the bullying but both of them had laughed. There was no way that Jason could be a bully, he didn't dress "that way" and always had straight A's in class and was respectful to all of his teachers. Mrs. Alexander had even implied Phil was _jealous_ since Jason was the only student with a better grade in math. 

He wondered about the Captain America look-alike but Phil wasn't going to ask. He knew he shouldn't know that much about the future, it might change something and what if… what if he wasn't married to Clint if he changed something? That wouldn’t be cool.

So he was going to stick this out, he snuggled into Clint's arms, who mumbled under his breath and turned, throwing his right arm onto Phil, his hand landing on Phil's pelvis, just inches away…

Maybe he could stick around long enough to, you know… have some fun with something other than his own hand. 

###

Locking the door, Phil dropped to the floor and got to ten pushups before his skinny arms gave out. Christ, he was such a wimp. But the gym had been out of question at sixteen and he'd never thought about exercising at home on his own. His closet was full of several terrible plaid shirts and kakis and it made adult Phil laugh to rifle through it. He'd been trying to imitate Steve Rogers when he'd gone school shopping over the summer. Phil couldn't remember all the details now but his mother had kept asking him if he was _sure_ that he wanted another shirt like that, or maybe he should try on some jeans. Eventually, she'd thrown her hands up and sighed and left him alone. The vicious bullying hadn't started yet but Phil remembered thinking, at the time, that his clothing options might help. He'd been wrong, of course, but the shirts had reminded him of Captain America, which had comforted him. 

The thing was, if he changed too many things about the past then his other self wouldn't make it out of the crucible in the same way with the same goals. He needed some of these things that happened to him when he was sixteen still to happen in order to become an Agent of SHIELD. 

Without that, he might not become liaison to the Avengers. Which led him to wonder just how his teenage self was introduced to his adult self's husband. Phil had a pretty good idea about how over-the-moon he'd be by it. At least two options were viable as soon as they realized that the Phil Coulson inside his body wasn't Agent Coulson. Fury would contain him away from everyone until Hawkeye and Widow broke him free – he knew that Nick wouldn't be able to keep the truth away from Clint for long. It was also possible they would try and convince young Phil he was in a dream and none of what he witnessed could be true, much less the future.

Most likely though, as soon as Fury figured out what year young Phil thought it was, he would release him to Clint's care and set Stark and Banner on the problem. Nick and Clint were the only two who knew what a horrible year nineteen-seventy-nine had been for Phil. Phil didn't doubt that meeting Clint would improve a lot of things for young Phil.

And he'd kill Clint if anything untoward happened. Even if – _technically_ – it wasn't cheating.

It took him a minute to realize the emotions he felt were being filtered through a teenage body without the rationality of adulthood. He laughed at himself and the adolescent hormones, picking up his bag and pulling out the folders to put his homework back in, instead of just stuffing it all in there without worry of wrinkling it. 

His teachers might appreciate that.

He walked Caleb to school before they parted and Phil continued on his way. He wished he had a car but his parents didn't want him to waste money he would need for college on gas and insurance when they lived close enough to walk. Never mind that it would have kept him further away from the bullies.

Jason and Henri (yes, with an i) were on the front steps. As much as adult Phil wanted to confront them, he needed to make some decisions first. He entered through the side door, letting things simmer for another day.

###

He woke, still in a strange bed in a strange place but arms tightened around him and Phil felt someone kiss the side of his head. It definitely wasn't one of his parents and then he focused on the hospital room and things came rushing back. Oh god – it hadn't been a dream? "Clint?" he said, turning his head to meet a sleepy grin with one of his own.

"Hi, Phil."

They were in an unlocked room where any doctor or nurse could walk in and see them sharing a bed. That alone had to be proof that it was safer to let people assume you were gay. Even so, if Phil really was some sort of government agent, he couldn't imagine this behavior was normal for them. "Are you normally…"

"What?" Clint asked, rubbing the side of Phil's arm. It was probably meant to be comforting but all that skin against skin distracted him and Phil almost forgot what he'd said. "Normally what?" Clint asked again.

"This touchy?"

"No," Clint said, his expression changing and Phil expected him to slide away and find some space. Instead he said, "I'm guessing you're still nervous and alone and none of your family is close by, so I'm sticking around."

He didn't dare ask about his family. They apparently hadn't been contacted which implied that there were things they didn't want Phil to know. Instead, he asked the first thing he thought of. "So, what's it like being married?"

Chuckling, Clint pressed his forehead to Phil's cheek. "Well, it's a lot of me forcing you to do the dishes and pick up your dirty clothes. There's a lot of trashy tv involved too."

Phil sputtered and turned his head, trying to see if Clint was teasing or not. "They have tv shows about what's in the girly mags?"

Clint raised an eyebrow and then laughed. "Different type of trash, little man. Reality shows – you're addicted."

"Huh?" and Clint laughed but offered no further explanation. "I think you're teasing me."

"Maybe," Clint shrugged and adjusted his arms, letting Phil sink a little more into his embrace. "You don't actually leave dirty clothes lying around but the rest is pretty true. Seriously though, we leave busy, dangerous lives and it's nice to come home to someone who understands that. I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Why are you telling me this?" Phil asked again because he'd already been body switched with a much-older version of himself and it seemed odd that two different people kept reassuring him.

"You had a rough year in 'seventy-nine," Clint said with a shrug as if it answered everything. More discussion was derailed by the doctor however, who didn't ask so many questions as check a bunch of monitors and charts. Clint moved out of the way and Phil wished he'd come back and sit by him again.

"How are you feeling?" the Doc finally said and Phil raised one eyebrow. Seriously? He'd been catapulted, by a green ray from a giant walking robot that apparently had been attacking New York, into the future and was currently in a hospital bed in a body that didn't seem anything like his own. The Doctor chuckled. "Well, you might not – _technically_ – be Agent Coulson, but you got his facial expressions down already."

"Yeah, that's a little disturbing," Clint agreed, patting Phil's hand. "We should get him to start practicing some of Coulson's catch phrases now. Can you imagine how terrifying that will be if he's said them his whole life?"

The Doctor snorted and rolled his eyes. "Please don't listen to Agent Barton. The only person you actually ever threaten is Barton."

"Aww, Doc. That's not fair."

Phil just ignored them, not even sure where to begin with those comments. "Any idea how I'm going to get back?"

"That's not my specialty," Doctor Franks said, glancing at Clint. "You'll need to speak with the scientists for that answer."

"I don't know any," Phil said and Clint rubbed a thumb over his knuckles.

"Got that covered, not to worry."

###

He understood the basic premise of time travel but it wasn't like he could go look up an essay concerning it at SHIELD headquarters without getting himself locked up. He could approach his science teacher for a conversation for certain, but how to express it in a teenager's terms without freaking out a man Phil couldn't stand as a junior and had avoided at all costs. 

Calling Tony Stark was out of the question even if he was in college already. It wasn't a terrible idea, but letting Tony know that there was a machine that allowed temporal body switches? In the end, the Avengers would end up fighting something Tony built himself. No thank you.

When Caleb snuck up outside his door, Phil stopped working on his homework. "Hey, come here," he said softly, knowing his brother could hear him. God, it was painful seeing him again. If there was something else he could change, it would be Caleb. 

It was easy to understand that every decision he made differently might change the future. It was harder to live with those choices while sitting in his old bedroom next to Caleb, talking about something he'd witnessed at school which left the two brothers laughing until Phil's eyes watered.

###

He hadn't thought he slept but when he opened his eyes, a woman sat next to him, her hand on top of his. At least she wasn't wearing black leather anymore.

"I'm Natasha," she said. "Clint needed a shower and change of clothes. He'll be back soon."

He glanced at their hands and she shrugged. "Clint made me. Something about you sleep better with human contact."

"Thanks," he said, pathetically grateful his voice didn't crack. 

"The doc said there's no lingering concussion from your fall and everything else seems in working order so Clint and I are going to take you home and let Tony and Bruce get to work."

"Work on what?" he asked, even though he knew. Of course they would want the other Phil back right away.

Natasha seemed to understand some of that though. "Tell me about school," she said, folding her legs beneath her on the edge of the bed. "What's your favorite subject?"

It had to be a boring conversation for the exotic woman in front of him but Phil answered every question, almost loving the attention she gave him. They talked about sports (no thank you), martial arts (that would be awesome), art (he was lousy at it but Steve Rogers was an artist so he'd tried), math (favorite, hands down), and science (Natasha said he'd see enough of that in a couple hours). Then she made him memorize three book titles that he promised to read as soon as he got back home and near a library. 

Clint came back, wet hair sticking up all over which made Phil giggle. They both looked so startled at the sound it ended up making him laugh all that much harder. Natasha helped him stand, politely not looking anywhere except this face since he was in hospital gown, and hugged him. She left the room so he could dress and Clint sniggered.

"What?"

"I've never seen her that considerate."

"Why?"

"She's seen you naked more than once, you know."

"When?" Phil asked, unable to help himself and Clint raised his eyebrows at that, smirking at Phil.

"Various missions. But you've not been in the military yet so you haven't lost all your inhibitions." Phil noticed how Clint always tended to answer his questions vaguely without much detail. Like he didn't want to lie but he also didn't want to give away essential information.

"No one's seen me naked," Phil blurted out as Clint handed him sweats and a t-shirt. Adult Phil might be married to the man in front of him but he didn't feel like Clint's husband.

"Do you want me to leave?" Clint asked and Phil shook his head, then nodded and shook his head again. Clint smiled at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"You are awesome, Phil Coulson. It's their loss if no one figured it out when you were a teenager." Clint turned around and Phil got dressed, stumbling over his feet when his eyes trailed down Clint's broad shoulders, slightly tapered waist and clinging t-shirt, lingering on his butt. 

Clint turned back around when Phil said he was done and smirked at the clothes. He suspected it was something that adult Phil never wore considering the t-shirt was purple with arrows on the sleeves. "Is this mine?" he asked.

"Nope," Clint tugged on the Ranger shirt he currently wore. "This is yours. You're currently wearing my clothes." And there was something neat about switching. More interesting because he suspected Clint wore the worn shirt several times and everyone would notice it. Like Clint had staked a claim on Phil or something.

Okay, he liked that idea.

###

He added sit ups to his home gym routine, making meticulous notes about how to exercise and build body mass, even biking to the library to get a couple books on it, leaving them on the dresser. The last time he'd felt so feeble had been the couple weeks after he woke up from being stabbed.

Jason and Henri didn't make things any easier and sneaking home after dark to hide the black eye wasn't the way Phil wanted his parents to find out. He knew things were culminating quickly and if he remembered correctly, he only had a couple days left before the events that made Phil try and kill himself.

Caleb was sitting on his bed when Phil came in through the window, arms trembling from climbing up to the second story.

"Hi," he said, like sneaking in was something he did all the time. God, he was teaching his little brother bad habits. The original time this had happened, Phil had been terrified that Caleb would run and tell their parents so he'd threatened him, never seeing the open math book and Caleb's silent request for help.

This time, Phil sat on the bed and started checking Caleb's homework while his brother fetched a sandwich bag, ice cubes and a wash cloth. They didn't speak about the black eye at all and Phil only smiled in thanks while Caleb corrected his homework based on Phil's suggestions.

Tomorrow after school, Phil would detour through their small downtown in order to pick up a brochure from the martial arts gym and leave it on the books he'd got for himself. Maybe the nurse at school had a pamphlet about how to recognize the signs if your child was involved with drugs. He'd have to ask about that too.

###

"You're not teaching him that," Clint said, standing between Phil and Natasha and she snarled and mumbled something in a foreign language that made Clint's clenched hands change colors and his shoulders tense up. He answered her in the same language and the two of them argued another ten minutes, completely ignoring Phil.

He tapped on Clint's shoulder, who ignored it until Phil pushed him just a little; two second later found him on the ground, flat on his back, with Clint crouched on top of him. How had that happened?

Clint's eyes widened and he scrambled backwards, letting Phil sit up. He looked awful, like he'd hit Phil himself, "Fine. Defensive only."

"It should be both," Phil said and Natasha grinned as if she'd won the fight.

"No," Clint said, using two fingers on Phil's chin to make him look at him. "I can't do that. A couple days training about how to hit won't give you the foundation you need to understand when you should and shouldn't hit."

"Why?"

Clint hesitated and Natasha ended up answering the question. "Becoming what you hate won't make you feel better about yourself in the long run. Having people only see you through the eyes of fear doesn't make you a better man, Phil Coulson."

"What she said," Clint whispered, backing away to let Natasha begin to train him.

 

That night they curled up on the bed together. "Clint," Phil said, turning in his arms to face him. "Please?" His whole body hurt from Natasha's 'training' and while he'd just took some pain meds to relax his muscles, he thought to convince his husband for a distraction.

"No, I can't do it."

"It's not like we're virgins after two years of marriage."

Clint sighed and closed his eyes and Phil pressed their lips together. Clint whined and pulled away. "Please?" he asked again and Clint… shrugged.

"Hang on," he said, rolling over to type something on his phone. Phil loved the technological advances he'd seen so far. Clint rolled back around, gently pushing Phil onto his back. "I'm not going to touch you, understand? But I won't stop what your hands do to yourself."

Phil wanted to ask what he meant, the words already forming, when Clint scooted a little closer, leaning up on his elbows. He pushed up Phil's shirt and rested one hand on the bare skin of his stomach and moved closer. "I love you," Clint whispered, then kissed him.

Adult Phil might know what to do with lips and tongue but this Phil didn't. He whimpered, opening his mouth when Clint licked his lips and let Clint, well, tongue fuck him for lack of a better description. He was hard so fast and wanted to thrust his hips up, to find friction, but Clint's hand held him down. Only then did he realize what Clint meant and Phil shoved his left hand into the sweats he wore, tugging on his dick.

The kiss was messy and wet and Phil suspected he usually had more finesse than this, but he didn't care. His heart was racing and he couldn't stop stroking himself while Clint nibbled on his lips, sucked on his tongue and did what felt like dirty, dirty things to his mouth. Clint left him gasping for air while he kissed Phil's jaw, sucked on his ear and bit his collar bone hard, sucking on it long enough that Phil expected he'd get bruised there.

It felt pretty close to heaven to know this man wanted him.

Then they were kissing again and Clint kept pulling back, wordlessly trying to show Phil how to make it better, to prolong the kiss, to tease. Phil whimpered, his hand moving faster and faster until his whole body clenched up, shooting semen all over his belly and Clint's hand.

Gasping for breath as his heart raced, Phil turned his head away, letting Clint kiss his neck again. He turned back, whimpering as Clint brought up his hand and licked it clean, watching Phil the whole time. "Can I…" Phil motioned toward Clint who shook his head no. 

Clint rolled him on his side, wrapping both arms around Phil to just hold him, the hard lines of his cock pressed against him. The door to their room opened, light spilling in from the sitting room as Clint said, "Hey, Nat."

The door shut again as she said hello back and then she was climbing into the bed with them, getting under the covers on Phil's other side, rolling over and backing up so her body was pressed ever so slightly against Phil.

"Um, hi?" he said and she grinned at him over her shoulder before clicking off the small lamp on the nightstand next to the bed.

"Sleep well," she said, tugging one of Phil's hands around her body.

"Okay," he muttered, a little confused but orgasm and two warm bodies lulled him to sleep pretty fast. He didn't figure it out until morning that Clint had asked her to sleep with them to keep Clint from doing anything further with Phil. Sneaky.

###

Adult Phil knew part of the reason Jason and Henri had hit him during high school, but it still didn't make the embarrassment any easier when he went to school the next day. As an adult, he knew that teachers and other adults would eventually begin to see bullying as abuse and instigate more measures to prevent it. Right now, Phil felt like he was living through the despair of it again. He might be weaker as a teenager but he knew enough ways to incapacitate or maim both of them.

Phil used none of that knowledge. He spent as much time as possible avoiding them. It mostly worked too. He'd suffered through much worse torture. He was smart enough to know how to escape.

The only exception he made was to roll with the few punches that landed, to lessen the damage done to his body. 

He wished he knew the best way to address this; he wanted, more than anything, to turn the tables and hurt both of them, to threaten them before young Phil returned to himself in order to avoid any more of this. He wondered how much self-defense Natasha would teach him while he was near her.

###

Dr. Banner – call me Bruce, please – was the only person Phil couldn't really understand. Captain America was easy to know why he was on the team, and Tony Stark was self-explanatory in so many ways. But Bruce was funny and really smart and almost too quiet. He wore ill-fitting clothes like he didn't own anything of his own and seemed so calm. Yet everyone, except the Avengers, were afraid of him.

It hadn't been obvious at first but after two days being with him, Phil could tell the other scientists and SHIELD agents acted different when they interacted with Bruce. It was weird that every time he came into the room, they quieted down, moved out of the way, or just left. 

He wanted to ask why but it seemed a rude question. Instead, he talked about Natasha and Clint.

"What do they do?" Phil asked again and Bruce shrugged as he worked on the computer readouts. 

"Clint is an archer so he shoots things. Natasha used to be a spy but all the publicity after the battle ruined that for her."

"But what did they do before that? How did they earn their way to SHIELD, or onto the team?" 

Bruce hesitated for a long time, looking at Phil as if he could figure something out without asking. "They're assassins."

"Huh?" Phil said and he wished he could stop that every time he was surprised.

"I'm pretty sure they used to be the top two assassins in the world. At least in the top four if such a thing is recorded."

"Oh, it is," Tony said, meandering into the room, throwing packets of blueberries at Bruce and Phil. "Not many people advertise themselves as master assassins after all, it's like the elite of the elite and the last I heard, there were only five people who qualified for the title."

"I'm married to an assassin?" Why did that seem so much weirder than being married to a superhero?

Tony scrunched up his face while he stared at Phil. "They got out of that game a long time ago so technically they would – _might_ \- not be on top any more. But yeah, you, and Fury I guess, have two pet assassins at your bidding. Cool, isn't it?"

Not really, Phil thought. It seemed like a lot of responsibility actually.

###

Phil wished he could understand the science behind all of it. Hopefully, Tony and Bruce were being their amazing selves and figuring this out; he also hoped that he wasn't making a mistake by _not_ seeking out young Tony Stark's help. What if he needed to be in a certain place at a certain time? So many variables to consider. 

He did what he felt he could get away with as a teenager, leaving brochures and even two notes for young Phil to find, a pamphlet for his parents, and let the rest go. He'd failed the first time he'd tried to kill himself, his parents coming home early and finding him just seconds before Phil would have died, and it had changed things for him. School never really got better even if his home life did and Phil hoped that young Phil could find some peace at home without attempting to kill himself again. 

If nothing else, Clint should have reassured him that life was definitely worth continuing. At least this time he'd spent more time with Caleb. Phil would never regret that. He wished he could do more but the chance of ruining too many things made Phil hold his hand. 

In the end, all his worries about being in the right place and time faded with a bright green haze.

###

"I think we have everything ready," Bruce said, smiling at Phil. Clint sat on the table, trying to not chew his fingernails as if he was nervous and Bruce met his eyes for a long second before clearing his throat. "Why don't you talk to Clint for a minute and I'll just… get things ready in the other room."

"So, time, is it?" Clint asked and he grinned, even though Phil suspected it was bogus.

He wasn't sure what to say, Phil couldn't imagine things changing so much that he wouldn't end up married to this man. He launched himself across the open space into Clint's arms and kissed him once, wet and too brief. Clint sighed and hung onto him for so long. "You're amazing, at every age, Phillip Coulson. Don't ever forget that – or Natasha's lessons, okay?"

"Okay," Phil said, blinking his eyes fast. "I'll see you soon?"

"You better," Clint whispered and buried his face into Phil's shoulder. "Live your life, enjoy yourself. Don't feel guilty if something changes along the way, all right?"

"I can't imagine things changing that much," Phil said and he wanted to tell Clint he loved him but he didn't dare. The words felt false coming from him because he wasn't the man Clint really loved. Phil wanted to hold on to this exact moment forever: get out of high school alive, get his college degree, join the military and meet Marcus, follow Nick into SHIELD, disobey an order advising him to kill a certain mercenary sniper, and then fall in love with him.

Tony and Bruce came back into the room and Phil swallowed all his fear. He looked at the room behind the glass wall where he had to go, then back at Clint. "Will you stay?" he asked and Clint nodded.

###

The green light faded and Phil took a deep breath. He recognized the labs in Stark Tower quickly enough. Tony and Bruce were there, outside the sealed chamber, talking back and forth. Natasha sat on the cluttered table next to them, staring into the room. She smiled as soon as Phil saw her. 

Where was Clint?

He staggered, recollections of his life that had existed prior to this being overwritten and playing quickly through his head as they morphed with quick flashes. He felt like he was living two lives simultaneously. Most things ended up the similar: beginning martial arts a few years earlier than his initial life, losing his virginity during college to John, the scare of unsafe sex, practicing safe sex, then falling in love with David just before joining the Army and losing him due to the military. The Rangers was still one of the best experiences of his life. He remembered meeting Marcus – Phil wasn't surprised those initial memories were the exact same. He didn't think much could change Nick Fury.

Caleb though, his brother hadn't died when Phil was eighteen. He'd work through all of that later but he suspected the fact he hadn't attempted suicide changed things. His parents were more attentive to his brother. Phil couldn't find it in his heart to regret that. Annabelle was still married to the same man. Phil had still given Annabelle away on her wedding day. His father was still dead of a heart attack though it seemed years earlier; their mother lived with Caleb instead of Jessica currently. He… didn't know much about Jessica, apparently he hadn't talked to her in years.

He could hear Stark knocking on the glass, his voice coming over the comm to ask if he felt alright. Phil gave him a thumbs up as he adjusted to the memories. Sitwell was still one of his best friends, Phil had apparently introduced Jasper to his wife; Natasha wasn't much different even if this version of her seemed friendlier with him. He and Pepper still ate lunch together once a week and he still helped Steve with crossword puzzles on quiet mornings. 

He glanced through the window again, his vision slightly blurred but clear enough to know Clint wasn't out there, waiting for him.

Finally, Phil let his mind wander to the most important person who'd been in his life.

He'd cling to both sets of memories if he knew how. 

Clint… Phil had to smile as the only things that really changed were settings and timeframes. Their first kiss had still been in medical, this time it was Natasha in the bed, her leg in a cast instead of Phil. The first two dates had been just as horrible and awkward, their third still a paint ball game at Phil's insistence. This time he lost by thirty points instead of hundreds. There seemed to be more laughter in their lives and Phil couldn't regret that.

He touched his chest to verify he still had the scar from Loki. Clint had still been compromised. The Helicarrier had still been damaged with too many dead Agents. Aliens had still invaded New York and the Avengers had won while Phil had been presumed dead.

A couple things seemed significantly different though. First, Clint wasn't even here. Phil moved toward the glass to search the room but only Natasha, Bruce and Tony were present. She smiled again, her expression sly.

Phil almost felt normal, his vision cleared and the memories settled. He wondered how long it would take for the other ones to fade. He glanced at his watch… something about the date bothered him. _Oh_. His younger self had indeed been paying attention. He took the tests and let Tony and Bruce take his blood and he didn't squirm while he waited for them to clear him. Natasha stayed, talking sporadically on the phone with Fury, keeping him updated. Tony might not have noticed how much Phil wanted to leave, but Bruce and Natasha exchanged grins more than once.

As soon as he was released, Phil left headquarters and made for home. Fury could damn well wait until tomorrow afternoon, besides, Natasha had kept him abreast. He didn't need to talk to Phil tonight.

The only lights in their flat were candlelight. Soft music played throughout their set of rooms and Clint waited by the table, dressed in the same, gorgeous gray suit he'd worn to their wedding – exactly two years ago today.

"Hi," Clint said as Phil fell into his arms.

"I love you," he whispered between kisses and Clint only laughed.


End file.
